


Failed Reunion

by Hgrade



Series: Degeneration Drabbles [7]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Knotting, M/M, Morbid, Pain, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7776010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hgrade/pseuds/Hgrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinel's playing errand-bot, unfortunately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Failed Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This story will make you feel horrible, I recommend not reading it.
> 
>  
> 
> Possibly part of another story, or not

An awful sense of dread falls into Sentinel's lap. He looks down at the datapad again, and presses the keys in the correct order. The ship's navigational system finishes establishing the encrypted line. The voice filters in, sounding bored. "Piggyback onboard already."

Sentinel rises, joints wanting to lock and keep him against his seat instead. His superior officer requested that he do this discreetly. The bot they needed had disappeared for half a vorn and this had been the only way to find him. 

 

Of course, Sentinel has never seen a 'con in person. His helm slowly tilts up until he's looking into the bigger bot's pale face. Any ship would have been more inviting than one so barren and yet filled with morbid trinkets. Lockdown, is a horrible, horrible mech.

"Well, well, well I guess old bolts couldn't make it." the dark shape steps forward, an amused look slipping over his faceplate. "What are you supposed to be? A junior officer?" Lockdown doesn't wait for a reply. "Look, this target caused a lot of damage. I'm going to have to raise the price on him." the velvety purr of his voice is inquisitive. "You can get old rusty hip to cough up the credits right?" but the look of dread that falls over the younger bot's face says he's not sure at all. Lockdown wonders if he knew what kind of hell he was wandering into. 

"N-No he didn't mention-"

"Try contacting him." Amusedly, Lockdown thinks about how Sentinel won't recognize him. Lockdown's old frame has been modded so badly, not even the master would be able to recognize him. That is, if his master was still alive. 

The autobot's boss isn't answering his private line. Sentinel has to focus very hard to keep his hand from shivering. Why the frag did he do this, why did he come here alone and without any backup. Despair floods into his tank and makes it feel like it's been filled with pebbles.

"You're a real cutie, aren't you." Lockout guesses he really sounds like one of those Decepticreeps, way to prove stereotypes. Sentinel doesn't become distracted from his calling.

The Autobot's teeth clench and he looks up at the bigger bot. From the beginning Sentinel already accessed the situation as hopeless if anything went wrong. "I-I guess." Sentinel already knows how much bigger the 'con is. The spikes, the arm and the corpses in the room say how dangerous this is. Perhaps worst of all is the fact that he came here expecting things to go just fine. 

Lockdown saunters closer, at home in the crypt-like hull of his ship. His grin is charming, but slimy. "So while that payment processes, why don't we get to know each other?" 

There's no reason to resist, really. "Sure." 

The 'con smiles, and motions for Sentinel to follow him. The blue bot follows numbly, just on the other side of the door is some sort of lounge area. It's probably for dining, or minimalist entertainment. Sentinel doesn't realize that Lockdown's eyeing him up.

That's just it isn't it, Sentinel's short and sturdy. The black and green bot finally settles on the thought. The wide shoulders of a heavy machine, defense type. Lockdown's always been one of the faster builds. The hook screeches over on perfectly polished shoulder and leaves a long scratch. Sentinel looks terrified, not irritated, amusement fails to quell his curiosity. Lockdown wonders what's going on in that circuit board. "Now, why don't you have some high-grade?" he pulls the quarter cube closer and then sets it in Sentinel's hand. 

The smaller bot drinks from the cube gingerly, supposing it's drugged when it's not. Though, he doesn't realize that Lockdown's watching curiously, wondering if the fluid is as awful as he recalls. Sentinel takes a deep draw and empties half the glowing fluid, finally giving into the idea that something really, really bad's going to happen to him. Lockdown looks bemused, optics shuttering halfway as Sentinel sets the cube down on the bar. 

He'd been mistaken, this was a kitchen of some sort. There's fuel-grade energon residue all over the place. A few dings in the bar, and some of the seats say that Lockdown has neglected it for too long. Sentinel likes clean spaces, and the lack of care is another droplet in his ocean of issues.

That's a servo on his interface array. Sentinel does not like the sensation, especially when a creepy fetish collecting 'con is the one causing it. Lockdown's touch is ghostly, sliding around the seams of Sentinel's pelvis and then upwards to his hips. The depressions delicately traced by the wayward servo. Sentinel manually goes through several menus to find the right ones to override and open his interface array. 

A jolt of surprise hits the autobot as he realizes how slim Lockdown's fingers are. The barest hint of arousal hits him, from a far off memory. The bot bites his tongue hard and tries to will it away. Lockdown traces the lips delicately, noting the odd reaction but not computing the source. It was infrequent but Sentinel was sure he'd only be able to get one of his fingers in. Massively oversized servos are good for punching and breaking things, not delicate interface. Lockdown simply toys with Sentinel, squishing each lip and then probing between them with a strange fascination. Then Sentinel realizes he's being watched for any reaction, of which there hasn't been much of. 

Sentinel's never been one to enjoy being penetrated, or having his nodes caressed if they aren't on his cord. His optics meet Lockdown's for a moment. The 'con sounds bemused, "This might hurt a little, but I'll try to be gentle." the con's panel withdraws, and the slinky mess of lines and bits wind slowly together. It's deathly quiet, not even ventilation interrupting the unusual unveiling. Sentinel probably should of realized that the mis-matching parts wasn't just for a terrible fashion show.

"You're really dry." the unsaid because you don't want to frag me rings loud and clear. The 'con leans back a little, "Hm." then walks calmly to one of the tables littered with parts and oil. Lockdown delicately pushes everything to one side and then pats the clean surface with his hook. "I think we need a little change of scenery, right?" 

Sentinel doesn't reply, he simply sits down on the table and allows himself to be pushed backwards onto it with Lockdown's touch. 

"Good bot. You know what to do." Mercifully, Sentinel can't see past his own chest. Lockdown notes this as he settles between the bot's thighs. The blue legs spread without provocation and he pulls the left lip aside to show off the dimly lit nodes. "Dry, dry, dry, dry, dry." he chides. He's also overwritten protocols to let his unaroused cord out, it's almost a dull sort of pain that comes from the exposed nodes.

Lockdown is frustrated, but part of him likes the sensation. The 'con isn't aroused, but his rod can certainly help everything along. With little effort he sets the lubrication module to high and slides inside of the willing autobot. "Hm, you might want to hold onto the edge or something." The green bot gives a single, slow buck to hilt himself into the body and licks his lips. Purring, he gropes the edge of Sentinel's chassy with his hand and pats. "Let me know if I hurt you. I don't want to get in trouble for harming an officer of the law." he starts to move. The lubricant secreted is a cloudy off-white and it slides out every time he pulls back. His plug is long enough that without help it'd cling and drag painfully at the other bot's delicate walls.

The first few minutes are nothing but cold bodies meeting one another, only the deeper part of Sentinel's body hiding warmth. Lockdown thinks he'd like to meet it. He starts to speed up, the node studded length beginning to glow with arousal. Sentinel hasn't made a single noise, but he is indeed gripping the edge of the table hard enough to make it bend. Lockdown makes a note to not get in a fight with the bot in close quarters. An Autobot wouldn't kill him intentionally but accidents happen. The thought makes him fuck the bot just that much harder, the thought of attempting to fuck a bot to death suddenly becomes the most attractive thought. His hips scrape against Sentinel's hard enough to spark.

Sentinel suddenly gasps sharply, legs kicking out too as pain lights up inside his interface's walls. Lockdown grimaces and slows, hilting. His vents are roaring as he leans over the smaller bot, "It's alright if you want to cry." the 'con moves his hips a little rougher, dragging his plug along the roof of Sentienl's slick valve. Enjoying the slow ripple of Sentinel's walls, they quiver when he speaks "Let me guess, you have bondmate? Hm? A spark-friend?" he grins as Sentinel's audials tilt down at the emotional assault. Lockdown thinks he's good, but he's really not.

The hook servo eases Sentinel's legs down again, Lockdown hovers over the bot's face. His guest's expression is unreadable, cute. Out of curiosity the 'con presses his lips against Sentinel's. The Autobot grimaces, gags and writhes as he discovers a tongue invading his mouth. He just can't shut his jaw because of the hook dragging it down against his neck and he can't pick up his head when Lockdown's pressing with all his weight. There's a scuffle as he grabs the Decepticon's helm and drags it away. "Frag off." he says flatly, as if dead inside.

Lockdown smiles and starts to fuck the 'bot again. Eagerness hits him as he realizes that Sentinel will not try to stop him, not when it's kissing that bothered him. Perhaps it's his lover-bot that he's really thinking about, consequences. Lockdown's train of thought goes haywire as he finds himself nearing the end of his endurance. He really likes the color of Sentinel's paint, his sharp optics and the way that he doesn't complain. The bounty hunter's trans fluids are slowly dragged out of his plug, dripping deep into the body beneath. He starts to chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"I'm stuck."

"What?"

"I'm stuck in you, my fragging cord's stuck and you didn't even feel it." 

"That's ... " his optics squeeze shut and the utter despair on his face is delicious. 

Lockdown slides his hips back enough to make his member tug painfully at the autobot. Sentinel winces at the sensation and goes back to trying to place names to the severed heads displayed on Lockdown's shelves.


End file.
